


Suspended In Disbelief

by agarina_amigara



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bondage, Breathplay, Cannibalism, Coming Untouched, Dom Will Graham, Domestic, Established Relationship, Face-Fucking, Fluff, M/M, Murder Husbands, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Safe Sane and Consensual, Shibari, Strength Kink, Sub Hannibal Lecter, Will Being A Good Dom, i know people think kink and fluff can’t go together but it can and it does, references to Dark!Will, will is canonically good at bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:56:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27225394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agarina_amigara/pseuds/agarina_amigara
Summary: After the fall, Will wants to tie Hannibal up. There’s a touch of plot but this was just an excuse to write porn that explores my “Will is a pro at bondage” headcanon. Heaven help me.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 22
Kudos: 182





	Suspended In Disbelief

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cherrygoodfriends](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrygoodfriends/gifts).



> of all the ways i’d imagined will and hannibal being intimate (and there are a LOT of ways) i’d never considered suspension bondage. bondage, yes, because i’m constantly going on about how good will would be at it, but i’d never factored in the suspension element. thankfully my dear friend matt remedied that for me <3
> 
> totally unbeta'd. sorry for any grammatical errors!

They’re halfway through their daily physical therapy exercises when Hannibal can’t avoid the way Will is looking at him anymore.

Will is leaning over him, scarred face looming over his knees. Will has one hand on each of his feet, holding him down and watching for improper body mechanics as Hannibal does sit ups. Hannibal had told him he’s perfectly aware of how to keep form, thank you, but Will had insisted. Something about reciprocity.

Hannibal’s in the middle of a rep when he notices Will’s nostrils flaring. He ignores it; life with Will is full of mood swings and mixed signals. He crosses his own wires, and Hannibal has to untangle them ever so patiently. He doesn’t mind. His ideal life with Will was always unimaginable, unthinkable, too dependent on the cooperation of the very uncooperative man currently counting out to him as Hannibal clenches his abdominal muscles and rises to mere inches from Will’s face before lowering back down again. But this life they’ve made is as close to ideal as he could have gotten. Hannibal has Will to himself, all day, every day.

The sex they’ve recently started having is just a bonus.

It’s somewhere around rep seventy-three when Hannibal can’t let the glint in Will’s eyes go unmentioned any longer. As he’s rising up he asks, cool and collected and surprisingly even for his elevated heart rate, “What were you hoping we might do once we’re done with our workout?”

Will grins. It vaguely changes the shape of the scar across his cheek. Hannibal loves that scar.

“Seventy five,” Will counts before continuing, “I wasn’t thinking anything too strenuous. I’m planning on adding a few more core exercises into your routine. I think we could stand to build it up a bit more.”

Hannibal almost balks, instantly taking the statement as a criticism. He’s older than Will, but he’s fit. Stronger. Faster and quieter and he has more stamina (other than that first time-- Will underneath him panting with his body locked up in a mix of pleasure/pain; then Hannibal had lost himself almost immediately). Being secure in himself means Hannibal is rarely offended by other’s opinions of him, but if anyone could put a dent in his self-image, it would be Will.

“Is that a criticism of my body?” he asks. He sits up again, locks his abdominal muscles to hold himself close to Will’s face. He could put his hands on the floor beside him but he keeps them crossed across his chest, the unspoken message of his strength obvious. Will flits his eyes to Hannibal’s bare stomach. His muscles don’t even twitch.

Will shifts over his legs, face warm and open. “Don’t be ludicrous.” But Hannibal doesn’t think it’s ludicrous. Will has never been with a man before. He may have other ideas in mind about what a man’s body should look like, feel like. Hannibal doesn’t want to disappoint Will. It’s not the first time he’s felt the feeling and it unsettles him as much as it always has. He decides to look at the idea with an air of curiosity instead of offence and instantly feels more comfortable.

“What then?” Hannibal asks. His body is still rigid, form impeccable.

Will huffs a laugh like he does when he’s nervous. _Curious indeed_ , Hannibal thinks.

“I just think it would be beneficial. You’ve added and removed several chest and shoulder moves for me over the months. You had a hole in you, Hannibal. I could’ve looked right through you. Makes sense to build that muscle up, yeah?”

Hannibal doesn’t say that those very muscles are arguably stronger than they’ve ever been. “I suppose you’re right,” he says instead, lowering himself back to the floor to resume closing in on one hundred sit ups. “What additional exercises did you have in mind?”

Will starts listing them between calling out numbers but Hannibal’s thoughts are a mile away. He wants to know if Will is unsatisfied with him, with his body.

It’s times like this he regrets not cutting open Will’s skull and having a look inside.

~

Two weeks later Hannibal is getting out of the shower when he hears a clanging coming from down the hall that is loud enough to wake the dead. Will had risen before him, not a typical occurrence but not so unusual Hannibal had felt the need to go looking for him. Now he wraps a towel around himself hastily and pads down the hallway to the room Will has taken over as his office: a warmly lit space Will keeps surprisingly tidy. The rhythmic banging, hammering perhaps, continues as Hannibal makes his way closer.

When he goes to turn the doorknob, it doesn’t budge. Hannibal tilts his head in wonderment. Will has never locked this door before.

The banging on the other side of the door stops abruptly.

A second later Hannibal hears Will’s soft footsteps coming closer to the door and then it cracks open about three inches. Will’s face smooshes into the opening.

“You can’t come in here,” he says. There are flecks of what look like plaster dust in his bangs.

Hannibal nods once, ever polite. He understands the need for personal space even as a part of his brain nags at him for allowing boundaries between Will and himself. He has no need to worry. Will is his now, he makes it known every night (and sometimes in the morning, midday, afternoon, and evening) and more importantly Hannibal trusts him now. God help him, but he does.

“Am I to expect a surprise soon?” Hannibal asks anyway, trust be damned.

Will beams at that. He is so easy to smile now. “Yes.” Will lifts his chin, his eyes go sharp. _He does the same thing when he’s feeling cocky,_ Hannibal muses. _Curiouser and curiouser_.

Hannibal simply leans forward into the small gap of the door and places a chaste kiss against the corner of Will’s mouth. Will leans into it, always does, can’t help doing anything else, and slides his mouth more firmly against Hannibal’s. Their lips part and meet again and then Hannibal is backing up, unwrapping the towel from his trim waist. He moves back into the hallway, lets Will take a look at him.

“Very well,” Hannibal tells Will, whose eyes have run down from Hannibal’s face to the neat, freshly cropped, still damp hair between Hannibal’s legs. “I’ll be in the sitting room when you’re done. Join me if you’d like.”

Will meets Hannibal’s eyes briefly enough to ask, “Will you still be dressed like that if I do?”

Hannibal smiles and nods. He is a vision in the early morning light streaming in through the windows, and he is aware. He is a vision no matter the circumstance. Will has him doing five sets of five-minute planks every day now and it shows. His body reflects the strength of his mind and he’s all too aware that that strength drives Will crazy.

“I will be nude, yes.”

Will’s eyebrows lift. “Give me five minutes,” he tells him, and the door slams in Hannibal’s smirking face.

He makes his way down the hall, dropping the towel behind him. He thinks of it like a breadcrumb leading Will along and heads to the sitting room where he waits to be devoured.

~

The banging and whirring of power tools behind Will’s locked door goes on for three days.

Hannibal brushes off his inquisitiveness and considers buying earplugs.

~

It’s over a light dinner of olives, smoked Havarti, freshly baked bread, and thinly sliced gas station attendant, that Will pauses chewing and says, “I have something I want to show you.”

Hannibal has been waiting for this so he doesn’t pretend to be aloof, as is his first instinct. There are no mind games to be played here but he still finds himself sinking back into the habit from time to time.

“The surprise you and your power tools have been tending to each morning I take it?” Hannibal spears an olive with his fork and pops it into his mouth.

“Yes,” Will says. He almost looks nervous but there’s something else there as well, Hannibal can see it plain as day. A certain sense of authority coming over him. The room suddenly feels warmer and his collar tight. Hannibal finds himself full, pushes his plate to the center of the table to signal that he’s done.

“Show me.”

They rise from the table at the same time and make their way into the hall, Hannibal following Will behind at an easy pace. He’s excited, truly stimulated by Will in a way he is with few other things.

Will stops him at the door, one hand on the doorknob and gazing at Hannibal over his shoulder. “If you’re not into it—” he starts, and then closes his mouth. Clearing his throat he says, “You tell me. If this isn’t something you want it’s not— I mean, there hasn’t been anyone else I’ve wanted to—” Will sighs as Hannibal puts a firm hand on his shoulder. Hannibal watches as a shudder moves through him. His touch being the only one that has ever truly brought comfort to the younger man is a powerful thing to behold.

“I will be honest,” Hannibal tells him. “Show me.”

Whatever he expected Will to have for him, it isn’t this. He’d expected a table, hand sanded and stained in a cherry finish to compliment the furniture in their living room. Possibly some sort of frame for the paintings Hannibal has taken to spending all evening perfecting.

What he’s greeted with as Will steps to the side of the doorway is two wooden beams—bolted to the floor and the ceiling with strong looking screws, and a horizontal beam running between connecting the two. The horizontal beam is almost flush with the nine-foot high ceiling. On the underside of the beam are metal hooks, four to be precise, imbedded into the wood. There are also hooks running along the inside of the vertical beams as well. The whole thing looks very sturdy. Hannibal steps closer to them, runs a hand along the solid wood. It has been sanded and sealed with a clear varnish. He tests the strength of it with a light shove. It doesn’t budge.

Turning to Will he quirks a brow. It’s an unspoken question— _what is this then?_

“I know you might have a negative association with this because of Mason—” Will cuts himself off and scrubs a hand across his beard, a nervous habit. “God, I shouldn’t have started with that.” He sighs and looks up at the ceiling before looking again to Hannibal. “I’m good at… containing you. Keeping you still. It’s been a way to hurt you in the past. I want it to be a way to make you feel good, too.”

The words have Hannibal’s throat feeling tight. The words, and the bundles of soft looking, burgundy colored rope he’s just now noticing on Will’s desk.

 _Oh_ , he thinks. _Surprise_.

“I know you might have a negative association with this because of what happened to you at Muskrat Farm.” Will looks more satisfied with this rewording of his original comment. “If you don’t want to, I understand. And if you want to and you don’t feel strong enough I can lower you—”

“Lower me?” Hannibal interjects. He isn’t one to interrupt but there are no rules here in their home. They speak freely, move freely, and love freely. It’s astonishly easy.

Will takes a tentative step towards where Hannibal is standing by the beams. Hannibal notices he’s moving like he approaches their victims; like the excitement buzzing under his skin could shock anyone who touched him. Hannibal suddenly finds that his apprehension is melting into excitement as well.

“The idea is to have you suspended,” Will tells him. He takes another step. “The anchors will hold you. I’ve tested them with sandbags twice heavier than you are. The workouts you’ve been doing… Well, you need a strong core for this. Yours was strong to begin with, but I didn’t want to take any chances.”

He’s close enough to touch now, and Hannibal does. He gets a hand in the front of Will’s t-shirt and tugs him closer until Will’s groin presses against his hip. Hannibal’s eyebrows lift in yet again another surprise when he feels that Will is half hard in his slacks just from talking about this in the abstract. The grin he gives Will is wicked, sin and salvation all in one.

“I have no doubt that my safety is of the upmost priority to you.” It’s a half joke that has Will smiling as he leans forward to kiss Hannibal fiercely. Will nips at his lower lip as he kisses him, backs him up against one of the beams. It digs in between Hannibal’s shoulder blades but the slick warmth of Will’s tongue against his own soothes any discomfort he feels.

Breaking their kiss, Hannibal brings his hands up to frame Will’s face. He moves his mouth away from Will’s but leaves their foreheads and noses touching, ever happy to just to nuzzle into Will now that he can whenever he wants. “Show me,” he says and Will hitches a breath. “Show me how you’d like to keep me still.”

Will’s pupils are blown when he backs away towards the desk to grab the rope. “Start getting undressed,” Will commands. Hannibal warms under the rush of satisfaction he only gets from seeing Will like this and does as he’s told.

~

The red rope— _shibari_ rope, Will had called it—is arresting against Hannibal’s skin. It’s not quite the color of blood, but it’s close enough in the dimmed light of Will’s study that, if Hannibal squints, he can envision the rope is slashes from Will’s favorite knife. It’s exciting to think about. Most things with Will are.

Will is behind him, out of sight, serious and calm but panting a little. Hannibal can hear him as he tucks a length of rope here and there, as he slides two fingers between the rope and Hannibal’s skin to test for give. He’s been explaining the process as he goes. He’s told Hannibal he’s never done this with another partner-- but he has, technically, done this. In their months of baring souls, and baring skin, Will has told him about the tableaux he created with Chiyoh’s prisoner. Hannibal knows he had bound the man, covered him in snails and stained glass, and hung him from the ceiling in the bowels of the Lecter castle. As Will had pulled Hannibal’s arms behind his back and wrapped them in the wine colored rope he told him a detail he’d previously withheld. Will expands on the way the man was bound, even uses Japanese words (“ _hishi karada_ , full body variety”) with such perfect inflection that Hannibal has to shift excitedly where he stands.

That is, until Will jerks him, albeit lightly, by pulling the rope that now locks his arms behind his back.

The light flush that the action gives Hannibal spreads from his neck to his chest. Will makes a pleased sound behind his back and turns to the beams where he’s run rope through a ring wide enough that it could easily be slipped over Hannibal’s large hands and up his arm. Hannibal turns to watch him, his balance a little off without the use of his arms.

“This is a Munter Hitch,” Will tells him, gazing up at the ring and the rope. “It’s not what I’d like to use if we do this again, but I read it’s best for first times. If I pull this,” he points to the area where the rope passes through itself, “I can lower you down quickly. Y’know, if you need me to.”

Hannibal looks Will in the eyes, sees such sincerity there it nearly eclipses all else. He realizes Will intends to walk him through this entire thing, as he’s walked himself in learning his fishing knots and later the knots he used to truss Hannibal up, but Hannibal sees no need. He likes the idea of the unknown. The knowledge that Will has him where, and how, he wants him.

Instead of saying all of this he says, “I trust you.” Will intuits the rest and nods before he attaches a bit of dangling rope to the back of the rope harness around Hannibal’s chest.

It’s slow going at first, getting Hannibal into the air. The whole thing works with a pulley system that aggravates the over-abused muscles of Will’s shoulder, but just as Hannibal has built up his core, Will has worked steadfastly to reduce any damage he took in their fight with The Dragon, and the fall that came after. Will pulls and rests, pulls and rests, and with each turn the floor moves farther and farther away from Hannibal’s bare belly.

It’s a surreal experience. There is a weightlessness quality to how he feels but the bite of the rope keeps him locked inside his body in a way that, ironically, feels grounding. Will doesn’t ask him if anything hurts, just keeps wide eyes trained on Hannibal’s face. There is no pain, only the discomfort of helplessness, which Hannibal doesn’t find as disconcerting as he would have surmised. He feels _had_ by Will. Kept. Just as Will intended.

Will is hard in his slacks. Hannibal can see the thick line of him disturbing the fabric, but more importantly he can smell him. He’s close to fully aroused as well and he scents the air freely, feeling animalistic. The comingling of their scents has him wanting to wriggle uncharacteristically with pleasure, but he can’t. His own body weight works against him and he can do little more than shift his joints in their own sockets. It’s thrilling and terrifying and when Will gets him to the height where he wants him, level with Will’s hips, Hannibal’s mouth waters. He knows why Will stopped him here. He knows what’s coming.

Will loops the rope attached to the pulley system through a ring on the side of one of the vertical beams and ties it off. He comes to stand beside Hannibal and runs a gentle hand down Hannibal’s flank. He smooths his hand over the rope around Hannibal’s hips, his thighs. Hannibal doesn’t know if he’s admiring his work or Hannibal himself, but he supposes there isn’t much difference. From this angle all Hannibal can see are Will’s bare feet. He wishes he could see his face. He’ll ask for that next time.

“I want your mouth,” Will says, lowering his hand. He doesn’t ask if it’s what Hannibal wants but he doesn’t have to. Hannibal spends most mornings waking Will up with said mouth, it is a passion they share. “I want you just like this, unable to decide how much you take. You want that too, don’t you?”

The reply of “yes” that Hannibal gives him is far more gruff than he intends. He’s fully hard himself now, his cock a heavy, bobbing weight between the space of rope in the harness that Will tied around his pelvis. “Almost purely decorative,” Will had said, with a look in his eyes that Hannibal had never seen.

Will comes around to Hannibal’s head. He takes Hannibal’s chin in one hand and tilts his head back as far as it can go. Hannibal can see Will’s belly now. Will uses his other hand to move the front of his shirt to the side and pops the button on his slacks, then pulls the zipper down. Hannibal can feel his mouth flooding with saliva as Will pulls his cock free. He’s flushed pink at the tip, soft and sensitive and delectable. Hannibal’s mouth is opening before his brain tells it to. He works on autopilot when it comes to getting Will off with his tongue and his teeth and the slippery cushion of his inner cheek, such is the amount that he loves it.

Will always hisses as the first touch of the wet heat that is the cavern of Hannibal’s mouth and this time is no different. Hannibal rocks a little as Will pushes himself in and it sends a zing of need up his spine. “God,” Will groans, thrusting a little, and moves his unoccupied hand to the back of Hannibal’s head to loosely grab the hair there. Hannibal moans, more at the feeling of being held still than the touch itself, and the vibrations of his tongue on the underside of Will’s dick feel like heaven.

The glow of arousal turns into an ache as Will maneuvers in and out of Hannibal’s mouth. Hannibal refrains from sucking, just lets his tongue lay flat to be slid over again and again. He’s drooling by the time Will nudges at the back of throat. The muscles of it tighten on instinct, and with them the muscles in Hannibal’s torso and legs as well. He bows slightly, held by the rope. There’s no give, nowhere to go. Hannibal gags minutely, then suppresses the reflex before Will pushes forward once more. “Yeah, let me in,” Will croons above him. There’s nowhere for Will’s cock to go but deeper into his mouth and Hannibal goes limp all over, lets Will slide in.

“Fucking…” Will’s groaning, fist tightening in Hannibal’s hair. “Fuck that’s—” He doesn’t finish, just pulls out of that clenching wetness and rubs his dick over Hannibal’s full lips. He lets go of Hannibal’s hair and moves his hand further back to something Hannibal can’t see. The rope.

“This good?” Will asks. He’s nearly breathless, overworked by just a couple handfuls of thrusts into Hannibal’s mouth. It’s not that he really needs the confirmation, he just wants to hear Hannibal tell him that he likes how it feels. Will prefers to talk his way through sex, muttering curses and half sentences and praise, but Hannibal has always been a silent lover. With Will he finds himself talking more and more, teased into whispered words in half a dozen languages.

Lips tacky with precum and drying spit Hannibal tells him “yes, Will”, flattens his tongue against the side of Will’s dick as it drags against his cheek and mouth. He wants Will back inside. He wants him in his throat.

“I want to try something,” Will says, and Hannibal nearly shivers all over. For there to be more to this is nearly incomprehensible. He’s on the verge of sensory overload as it is, the taste and smell of Will combined with the inability to move providing more stimulation than his body is used to handling at once.

Will aims himself back towards Hannibal’s mouth. This time, instead of thrusting in, his hips remain still and he uses his hand under Hannibal’s chin and the hand on the rope to tug Hannibal onto his cock.

The moans they let out are simultaneous, loud enough to reverberate around the room.

Hannibal feels exactly the way Will intended him to. Held. Kept. He’s suspended in this moment just as much as he is suspended physically and he offers no objection as Will rocks him back and forth, using his mouth. Hannibal has felt his share of helplessness, from childhood trauma to incarceration, but this isn’t that. This isn’t the absence of control, it’s the relinquishment of it. He has handed it over willingly and there’s no one he’d rather have ahold of him than Will. Will who, above him, is panting and groaning and pulling at him, then releasing him, over and over. Will, who is saying his name, “Hannibal, _fuck,_ Hannibal,” each time he gets deeper into his throat.

Will gives a particularly forceful pull, tilts Hannibal’s chin just right, and then he’s all the way down, Hannibal’s nose mashed against the pubic hair at the base of his dick. He holds him there and Hannibal wouldn’t be able to speak, breathe, or gag even if he wanted to. Will could leave him like this, pressed close, Hannibal’s jaw so wide he can’t even bite down. He’d suffocate, just like this, wrapped up pretty as a present, mouth full of cock. The idea of it is too much and before he knows it, before he can stop it, he’s clenching internally and coming all over the floor.

Hannibal is sputtering and gasping at once as Will hurriedly pulls out and takes himself in hand, stroking quickly. “Fuck, did you come?” His voice is tinged in disbelief. Hannibal can do nothing but moan as his hips attempt to jerk in their restraints and are stopped by the rope binding him tight. It’s starting to hurt, cutting into the skin more and more the longer his weight is against them. His cock leaks all over the floor. It’s less than the forceful shooting of cum than when he comes with stimulation and it’s agonizing and incredible and seems like it will go on forever.

“God, you did,” Will says, breathless. His hand is still jerking his cock and Hannibal can tell he’s close. He wants to knock that hand away, but he can’t. He can’t do anything but open his still moaning mouth and offer it up to Will wordlessly.

Will pushes back in and it’s rougher this time. It has to be. He’s leaking all over Hannibal’s tongue and pushing and pulling him like a rag doll. Hannibal feels powerless to stop him. They went over safewords, safemotions, and safesounds while Hannibal got undressed. He knows if he made a shaking motion with his head, back and forth three times, or if he mumbled “nuh-uh, nuh-uh” around Will’s dick, this would all stop. He doesn’t want it to stop. He wants Will punching his dick down his throat over and over, wants to see the shake in his thighs underneath his slacks, wants to feel the exhilaration of knowing he is nude and bound and Will is still fully clothed and so _powerful_ that he wanted this and just _took_ it.

“I’m gonna come,” Will grunts, “You’re gonna make me c--” Before he can finish his sentence the words are wrapping around a moan and he pulls Hannibal all the way in, both hands on the rope now, pulling him tight and flush and getting so deep Hannibal can feel Will in his lungs. There’s the brief worry of aspiration pneumonia before he banishes the thought, focuses instead on the pulse of Will in his mouth, the high whines he lets out when he finishes, the little aborted thrusts of his hips.

Hannibal’s getting close to signaling for Will to stop and let him breathe when Will releases him and he goes swinging back into place lightly. Will falls to his knees as Hannibal is still gasping and swallowing. He grasps Hannibal’s face in both hands and kisses him just like he did the first time—all the want and need and obsession he’s felt for years bleeding into the way he licks inside Hannibal’s mouth; a mouth that can hardly kiss back, can just hang open while it’s licked into and worshipped.

They kiss for several minutes until Hannibal’s heartrate starts to slow, until he can kiss back properly. Will still holds his face like it’s something precious, rubs his forehead against Hannibal’s own with all the love in the world.

“Are you okay?” Will asks softly. His eyes are closed in bliss or reverence, Hannibal can’t tell. Maybe both.

“Yes, Will.” His throat is raw, his voice hoarse. “I’m perfectly well.”

Will huffs a laugh, the breath puffing against Hannibal’s face.

“I hate to lower you down. You look so good like this. Even better than I imagined.” Hannibal warms at the praise. He feels blissed out. The pinch of the rope is almost undetectable even if he knows it’s there. The rush of endorphins mulls everything around him.

Will presses one last kiss to Hannibal’s slack mouth, rises to his feet and tucks himself back into his pants. He goes to the opposite beam from where he tied off the rope attached to Hannibal’s legs and feet and begins to release the knot. “You made a mess of the floor, Hannibal,” Will teases. There’s a seductive smile in his voice that Hannibal’s spent cock can’t help jumping at. He’ll never get used to hearing it. “I think I should make you clean it up.”

“That would be quite an impossible feat without the use of my hands.” Hannibal’s voice is still so rough.

Will laughs, his hands gently releasing, and therefore lengthening, the rope that holds Hannibal’s upper half horizontal. Hannibal slowly goes feet over head, his eyes going wide as his face closes in on the floor. He can see the puddle of his cum against the hardwood. Waiting for him. It’s nearly right underneath his mouth.

With a little push, his tongue could reach it.

Hannibal can hear the smile in Will’s voice when, lowering him further, Will asks, “Who says you need your hands?”

**Author's Note:**

> pictures of hannibal’s ties can be seen here: https://imgur.com/gallery/0ED1cus (nsfw obviously, but no nudity) 
> 
> one day i will write more than a oneshot. today was not that day. thanks for reading! feedback keeps me alive and kicking! <3


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